Disappearing Diners
By Aaron Christianson
Rebecca and I tuck into Tina's on a Sunday morning, both of us sporting hangovers from the night before. There's no line when we step inside, but there is a growing collection of waterlogged umbrellas. I shake ours off and add it to the pile. By the time I turn back, a member of the staff has appeared to shepherd us to our table — a landlocked two-top in a sea of patrons in the same shared state.
We shed our coats and shake off the cold that stuck to us on the walk from her apartment. After ordering a customary cup of pot coffee (a guaranteed first of several), I take a chance to soak in the Bushwick institution that's withstood the test of eight decades.
There is magic here, as there is in most great diners, in the simplicity of it all: a constant stream of coffee that flows directly from an industrial brewer seemingly straight into patrons' expecting, ever-depleting mugs; a menu that is steadfast in its straightforwardness — taking pride in the fact that it's as affordable as it is filling; a waitstaff that feels simply inseparable from the diner itself, pacing between tasks like worker bees, but all equally as important as the queen bee.
This scene — this beautiful scene — feels more and more rare in a city where the cost of doing anything keeps creeping up. Rebecca eulogizes past establishments that didn't make through her decade-plus as a New Yorker. Good Stuff on 14th. Jimmy's on Union. All of which have shuttered their doors only to be reinvented for their next life as a sushi spot or a french bistro, respectively.
Change can, at times, feel like the only constant in New York's restaurant scene. Buildings that once housed a decade-plus worth of memories can overnight shapeshift into something new, something different — lathered clean by a fresh coat of paint and a new name.
But the death of a diner feels more personal. These spaces, by design, saddle you as close as possible to not only your friend, acquaintance, or lover but also your neighbors. People can be anonymous until you're both pressed up to the diner bar, forced to occupy the same minimal space available and, even if only a little, to become aware of the lives that your fellow New Yorkers are living. Their journeys, their stories, where they're coming from, and what they're ducking away from. What collective spaces they're currently mourning.
There is a stark need for more diner-like spaces where people can congregate, get a cheap, filling meal, and just exist for a while. And on that Sunday, I'm grateful that Tina's exists and that Rebecca approaches diner ordering the same way I do (one savory and one sweet dish to be shared). Even though there's a long list of closed doors in Rebecca's favorites, this one remains open. And I'm grateful we get to spend that Sunday afternoon eating, eavesdropping, and hiding away from the rain.
P.S. Here are a few of our favorite diners that are still open. While we encourage you to check these out, we doubly suggest you visit your local diner to see what it's all about.
Tom’s Restaurant in Prospect Heights
Court Square Diner in Long Island City
La Bonbonniere NYC in the West Village
Gracie’s on 2nd in Yorkville
Montague Diner in Brooklyn Heights
B&H Dairy in Noho
Bel Aire Diner in Astoria
Waverly Diner in the West Village
Andrew’s Diner in Eltingville